


Acceptance

by Nightfox



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Asphyxiation, Dark!Arthur, Dark!Merlin, Humiliation, M/M, Rape, Sexual Violence, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-15
Updated: 2011-07-15
Packaged: 2017-10-21 10:34:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/224211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightfox/pseuds/Nightfox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i> One learns to accept what one can not change. </i></p><p>This story is really pretty graphic. If any of the subject matter offends, steer well clear of this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Acceptance

**Author's Note:**

> dark_merlincomm is clearly having a bad influence on me. I woke up yesterday morning with the general idea for this story circling my thoughts. God only knows what I was dreaming that I woke to this!

There had been definite benefits to that goblin fiasco. Never mind the pure joy derived from observing an utterly bald (and humiliated) Uther and the Royal Ass finally getting a pair of ears that suited his personality. While those were memories to be treasured life-long, they were after all, pleasures of a fleeting nature.

  
The true benediction came in the form of a small but significant magical library. Merlin may have possessed a seemingly unlimited wellspring of magic  to command but he did not yet have a sufficiently vast knowledge of how to apply that power, how to shape it to his will. Within that secret room was a treasure trove of lessons, wisdom, and the guidance he needed to channel his magic, to form it into whatever use he needed.

  
Ever since discovering that little room in the east wing of the library, one of it's books always rested in the hollow beneath the loose floorboard by his bed. He'd dedicated almost all of his admittedly scant spare time to studying those forbidden tomes. He soaked up spell after spell, drinking the knowledge as if it were the most intoxicating of liquors, the sweetest nectar known to man. This was his life-spark, what made him get out of bed each morning, the promise of fulfilling the destiny that had been foretold for him. He focused on that promise, for the future was all he had to keep him going since his present had turned into the deepest of torments.

  
When had things gone so badly awry? He knew how it started, he just didn't know why. Perhaps it was his inability to hide his innermost feelings, his appalling lack of any sort of acting ability. Arthur must surely have guessed at or rather _observed_ his manservant's unusual devotion and understood that it wasn't merely the dedication of a loyal servant. Merlin was hopelessly in love with his Prince.

  
Merlin could have lived with that. Had Arthur left well enough alone, the sorcerer would have spent the rest of his life contentedly (if not exactly happily) serving the man he loved without anything more than the occasional wistful fantasy of his master one day returning his feelings. However, the Prince didn't let it lay. Instead he _used_ it; he used Merlin.

  
At first it was for small matters, having Merlin lie to his father to cover activities he didn't want Uther to discover. Filching items for him from the kitchen stores, the King's private wine cellar or Morgana's rooms. That Merlin wound up countless times in the stocks as a result and even spent a night or two cooling his heels in the royal dungeons didn't stop him from asking the good natured boy who served him to do it again and again and _again._ If only he'd stopped there, they still would have been alright.

  
However, he began to tease the black-haired youth about his crush. Pouring derision and shame into those over-large and infinitely oversensitive ears. He disparaged the servant's manhood, his appearance, his intelligence and his ability to perform even the simplest of tasks. He especially enjoyed tormenting the boy by forcing him to attend to him in increasingly intimate situations, taking a bully's delight in the young sorcerer's discomfort. He howled in glee whenever the performance of these ministrations would cause the inexperienced stripling to harden beneath his thin, worn breeches, his excitement all too evident despite the loose fit of his habitual garb.

  
Then he truly began to _use_ his servant. It began when he'd commanded the blushing, virginal youth to stroke him off. He'd been stretched out in his tub beside the fire, Merlin running a soapy rag carefully over his back and shoulders. He'd leaned back and twisted just far enough to grab one fragile ivory wrist in his powerful fist. Dragging the boy around the side of the tub, he'd forced the slender hand to his cock and wrapped those long fingers around the heavy length of the hardened flesh throbbing beneath the surface of the water.

  
"Come on, now _Mer_ lin. Here's your chance to really get your hands on me," he'd taunted the lividly flushing warlock.

  
"Don't think I've missed you watching me. The way you let your hands linger as you dry my body after every bath. I know you want me. Here's your chance. Come on, let me feel what you can do."

  
Merlin had frozen in horror at the Prince's words. Yes, he wanted him but not like _this!_ However, Arthur refused to let go of his wrist even as he desperately tried to tug it away. Instead he forced the boy's hand to slide up and down his erection, setting the pace and barking commands as the sorcerer unwillingly stroked his heavy cock with soft, slender fingers. As he got close to his orgasm, he'd grabbed the back of Merlin's head, his fingers digging into the soft raven hair as he forced the boy's fine boned face near the water's surface.  Then he'd arched up from the bath and splattered his release directly into those sapphire eyes. Merlin barely managed to close his eyes before they were coated with the sticky glue of the Prince's royal cum.

  
Arthur laughed then, laughed long and hard at Merlin as he scraped the Prince's jism from his face with the side of one hand.

  
"That pretty face of your's looks good like that, _Mer_ lin. They say ladies like to use it as a face cream. I'll make sure you get a steady supply of to keep that delicate skin of yours soft and supple."

  
The young mage had come close to breaking down right then and there. He'd wanted to crawl beneath the oaken floorboards and  never surface again. Instead he'd been forced to continue washing the Prince.  Arthur spread himself wide and demanded that Merlin soap and rinse every crevice of his body but with the new stipulation that the humiliated servant use only his own bare hands to complete the task.

  
The forced hand-jobs continued for weeks. They could happen anywhere and at anytime.  Merlin never knew when  Arthur might drag him into a dark corner, quiet cupboard, empty chamber or even behind a convenient bush and force the younger man's hand down his breeches and demand instant gratification. Each  time he'd also pant out taunting obscenities designed to denigrate the hapless boy who loved him  far more than he loved himself.

  
It was perhaps a month or two before Arthur forced Merlin to his knees in the stables and nudged his cock against those sweet, soft, full lips.

  
"I never did get around to teaching you to walk on your knees, did I _Mer_ lin? How remiss of me!  I think it's time we remedy that. How bad do you want to suck my cock? How long have you been dreaming about this, hmm? I always did think you had a mouth expressly made _for_ sucking dick. Now you'll get to fulfill your potential. Doesn't that make you happy? Now fucking open up, that's it, oh yes, very good..."

  
After that, he didn't bother with Merlin's hands, he'd simply push the tall, lissome boy to his knees or knock him straight to the ground before untying his breeches and sinking down to straddle the servant's narrow chest. Each time he'd force-fuck that pretty, fragile face using the sorcerer's ebony hair or sometimes even his ears as an anchoring point.  Then he'd start talking and mere torment became absolute hell.

  
"I'm too good to you, Merlin. How many master's would fulfill their servant's dreams like I do? You're so lucky I can't marry Gwen until Father dies. Otherwise, you'd just go wanting, wouldn't you? You'd never get all this attention from your beloved, hmm? You'll never get enough, will you? You just fucking live for the taste of my cock don't you? Don't worry, I'm a good friend, I'll always let you have what you need from me, even when I do marry her. I'd never make you go without, you've served me too long and  too well for that."

  
Every time that followed was a variant of the same scene. The Prince would force his cock down his servant's throat, gagging him, choking him with it's thickness. He'd ignore the tears, the struggles, the fists pounding impotently against his thighs and the nails that would rake helplessly from waist to knee, dragged over the jutting bones of thrusting hips. Sometimes he'd paint the crying sorcerer's face with his release, reveling in the lovely picture he'd create, his royal seed gleaming on high, sharp cheekbones and splattered across sinfully plush lips, reddened and swollen from his generous attention. Other times he'd press the struggling face against his unyielding body keeping his cock buried in the spasming, asphyxiated throat, the flesh of his belly cutting off the last link to air the boy-man in his grip had. He'd let go only when he felt Merlin begin to sag in his grip, starting to lose consciousness. Then he'd finally yank his softening member from between slackened lips. On occasion, when the mage had been kneeling, he'd even managed to catch the slim body before it hit the floor.

  
Months passed this way. Arthur had increased the frequency of his "mercy sessions" (as he liked to call them) to an almost daily occurrence. However, if duty demanded his absence for more than a day, he'd "make it up" to his lovelorn servant by using him several times a day in the wake of his return. 

  
Merlin continued to study every night. Now more than ever, he clung to the comforting ritual, the quest to fulfill his destiny. His knowledge grew in leaps and bounds as one spell learned could lead him to discover a hundred different ways to apply it.  As he'd once assured his master, he _was_ a quick learner. Not only that but his magical ability was in-born and a spell that might be of limited use to any other sorcerer became an unlimited possibility in his hands.

  
He'd called on Kilgharrah several times since Arthur had discerned his poorly hidden feelings. The scaly fraud was no help at all. He continued to assert that Merlin's destiny was unalterably entwined with that of his prince's. There was nothing he could do to _escape_ his destiny. The dragon advised him to _accept_ it.

  
With Christmas came a new "gift" for Arthur's loyal friend and retainer. After retiring from the holiday feast he dragged a bonelessly tipsy Merlin back to his room and proceeded to strip the young man of his festival finery. The boy wasn't so far gone that he wasn't terrified by his master's unfamiliar actions. He cringed away from the strong hands that tore at his clothing,  tried to pull back only to find himself man-handled to the bed and tossed down on the coverlet. His breeches followed the swift yank that rid him of his boots.

  
"Happy Christmas, Merlin!" The groan came in his ear as Arthur breached him. He screamed and the Prince laughed.

  
"Ah, you _were_ a maiden, I knew it! Saving yourself for me, were you? You're so fucking sweet, so fucking tight...ha...aa..py...C..chr...iii...st! Ugh...f...uu...ck...yes!"

  
The young sorcerer found himself shrieking with every thrust of Arthur's thick shaft in his too tight, too dry anal canal. Head thrashing back and forth, body rocking under the onslaught, he still couldn't block out the relentless drone of the Prince's voice. It continued the assault on his mind even as Arthur's callused hands, sharp teeth and diamond hard cock were committing the ultimate violation of his body, his love and his trust.

  
Arthur gathered the shaking boy in his arms after he'd emptied himself in his defenseless body. He even kissed him on the forehead benevolently.

  
"Now wasn't that a proper Christmas present?" He said archly, nuzzling the alabaster neck. He was strangely deaf to the stuttering sobs still rattling in the  throat his lips were pressed against. Of course the boy's mind was blown, all his dreams had just come true, hadn't they?

  
Several weeks and more than two dozen "mercy fucks" later Merlin found a fascinating spell in the latest book filched from the magical library. They were the words needed to perform memory alteration, to wipe a mind, to structure amnesia. Merlin first tried it out on one of the Prince's hunting dogs, erasing the animal's memory of obedience training. He was very happy with the results until the next time he had to exercise the animal. That's when he tried to work on a counter-spell. However, he found that once a memory was gone, there _was_ no bringing it back. It wasn't masked by the spell, it was _purged._  
 _  
_  
He next tried it on an unsuspecting Gwen. He didn't edit much, just the last fifteen minutes of lively debate on the relative merits of several types of herbal infusions. It was amusing to watch. Without missing a beat,  her conversation reset to the precise place it had been fifteen minutes earlier and she continued her line of thought as if time itself had rewound.

  
Two days later he was on his knees in the Prince's bed receiving his master's "mercy".  He keened in agony as he was split asunder yet again. The brutal fucker was never _merciful_ , never bothered to prepare the servant to accommodate his thick length with more than a cursory spit-covered finger and would actually taunt Merlin with the blood left smeared on his  cock when he was done.

  
"It's like fucking a virgin girl every time! That sweet little pussy you have between your legs, _Mer_ lin, it's so very tight for me. You might as well not even have cock and cullions, they only get in my way as it is. Perhaps we should just have them removed, hmm? Finally make you into the pretty girl you look like, the girl you act like, the dirty little girl you fuck like!"

  
He roared in laughter at his own joke and finally, _finally_ Merlin snapped. His eyes flashed gold as his magic flew out to seal the room off from the rest of the time-stream of the universe. With a few hoarsely uttered words the shocked prince found himself bound to his own bed by the ties that normally held the bed-curtains back. Before he could speak, his voice choked in his throat and refused to sound. He stared in fear at the tall, slender boy who'd been by his side almost every waking moment for the past several years. The fragile-seeming, gentle, sweet, _sensitive_ boy-man so clearly in love with him was a sorcerer!

  
An _angry_ sorcerer. He'd never seen such a look on Merlin's pretty face. He'd never thought such a sweet face _could_ look that frightening. His eyes, always a deep blue had darkened almost to black, their color bleeding away into hugely dilated pupils. It was almost as if the nearly blinding flashes of incandescent gold that burned through the warlock's eyes left them soot-blackened as in the wake of fire.

  
His soft mouth, that soft, plush mouth Arthur loved to see stretched around his cock was thinned to a hard, tight line. His cheeks hollowed, the fine bones of his face starkening, almost as if his very skin was trying to flee the rage burning in his eyes,the heat flaring from his nostrils in puffs of air that damn-near steamed so fiercely did his fury burn.

  
"What, nothing to say, my Lord? You certainly do like to _talk_ don't you? Nothing, hmmm? I think it's time _you_ learned how to take it like a girl."

  
Arthur suddenly found himself bent uncomfortably with his knees pressed to either side of his head, the loosened ties around his ankles retying themselves to hold his legs fast in the unnatural and frankly painful position. Merlin still hadn't laid a single finger on him, just towered over him, naked, panting with rage, a few guttural sounds escaping his throat and those fiery golden flashes heating his eyes like molten metal. There was nothing girly about the mage now.

  
He'd never before noticed just how large the boy's cock was. Had he ever really even _seen_ it erect before now? He'd felt it's hardness a few times but no, he couldn't recall ever seeing it like this. It was larger than his own,  frighteningly so. Perhaps he had a slight edge on girth but he had nothing close to that _length_ in his breeches. As he watched, unable to speak a word, the sorcerer approached him, those long, slender white fingers stroking the daunting piece of hardened flesh.

  
"It's not Christmas, Arthur but then, I never did get to give _you_ a gift, did I? I couldn't walk properly for a few days after that but you missed that somehow, didn't you? It certainly didn't stop you from giving me another of your 'gifts' on Boxing day, did it? You foul git! Did you really think I wanted _this_ from you? And you never shut up! I hate you more every time you open that fucking mouth. You may be my destiny, I may not be able to escape you but that doesn't mean I have to take your fucking crap or your filthy fucking cock up my arse every day!"

  
As he was speaking he was crawling toward the trussed up prince and lining his rage fueled erection up with Arthur's tightly puckered opening. He leaned down and spit a small gob of saliva into the Royal's crack and rubbed his cock-head in it before pushing forward with no further preparation.

  
His eyes flared again, cutting off the howl that tried to escape from the Prince's throat. He shoved forward, keeping the older man silent but reveling in the twisted rictus on his handsome face, the arching and thrashing of his tanned, toned body, the ripple of muscles as they flexed and coiled in a futile effort at escape. Arthur had never been more beautiful.

  
The sorcerer used his cock as a weapon, viciously drilling into the core of the Royal's body, twisting and rotating his hips to loosen the grip of the flesh glove clamping around his turgid spear. The blood helped, slickened the dry tunnel, easing the way for his own violation of the very man who'd made his life a living hell for so long. He savored the near silence of the act. There was only the squish and slap of his body moving in and against Arthur's contorted flesh. There were his own small grunts of grudging satisfaction, the soft panting of gratifying effort and the faint creak of the bed with each thrust of his hips.

  
He never wanted to hear Arthur's voice again. The lack of sound from the man beneath him was almost as sweet as the unwilling pleasure that same man was affording his previously abused body. He drew it out, made it last even using his magic to extend his own performance. Merlin watched every grimace, every twitch, every twist, every shudder and every silent cry that tried to escape the muffled voice box of his tormentor. He drank them in like dry sand swallows water. When the silent screams stopped and became tortured tears, he smiled, a savage grin that looked wrong on his naturally sweet face. Everything about him was wrong but nothing had been right with him for a very long time.

  
He rode the Prince for what seemed like eternity and may have been. He'd stopped time outside this room. The manipulation of the stream of time had been in his power since birth, sealing off this one room was nothing more than a parlour trick for him. As hours passed for the two men rutting in the sumptuous bed, there had been no time for anyone else in creation.

　

The sorcerer only allowed himself the release he'd been holding off when Arthur finally went slack in his bonds. It had taken far longer for him to give up the fight than Merlin would have credited, knowing first hand what it felt like to be torn apart from the inside out by a force you could not defeat. The Prince's military training and natural inability to accept vanquishment had drawn out his torture far longer than would an ordinary man's stamina.  There were no shouts or screams of satisfaction from the sorcerer. A deep sigh was all that accompanied the fountaining of his seed in the royal receptacle. Then, more blessed silence as he leaned in to the heated flesh still clinging around his own.

  
He stayed that way for a long, long moment. The survey of his conquered territory was languid and leisurely. He had all the time in the world to savor this picture, to lock it in his own memory before he purged it from Arthur's. He let his nails scrape harshly over the other man's scrotum and grinned again at the wince and jerk of the Prince's body.  He'd have to remember to add that in earlier next time. His eyes gleamed in anticipation. He'd finally come to understand what Kilgharrah had meant all those months ago. He was finally _accepting_ his destiny.

________________________________________________________

  
 _All_ comments are welcome. I simply ask that if you don't like what I wrote, please be polite in your criticism. Thank you so much for reading!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Bear the Scars](https://archiveofourown.org/works/228061) by [Nightfox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightfox/pseuds/Nightfox)




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